Note: Readers may recall a Thanksgiving poem I penned years ago based on childhood Pennsylvania farm memories and centering on life in the memorable 1950’s. Today I revisit this great American holiday with yet another; this one based on the 21st century. Both celebrate the day as it is meant to be, a day of giving thanks, and a great American celebration.

‘Tis well known, no better way, with solemn prayer to start a day.

In church, alone, no pets, no phone, just you and God in prayerful tone.

To thank Him kindly for His Grace, He spreads across the human race.

While this Thanksgiving gem is spent that special way that it was meant.


The house adorned with bright orange gourds, ovens filled with juicy birds.

You buy, you cook, create a taste, and hope there won’t be any waste.

The turkey’s plump, the yams are hot, five fresh deep pies an awful lot,

Plus seven sours and seven sweets, ’taters, beans and warm mince meat.


Dad, he doodles here and there, before he makes his down home stuffing,

Mom says that her cooking’s rare, her dishes say she’s only bluffing. 

Good pies, sweet cakes and bread, she claims, need ample time preparing,

For an unforgettable Pilgrim feast; with each one kindly sharing.


A blessing first, sincere and warm, we thank Him for our bounties,

And pray it’s shared through calm and storm, in villages and counties.

Those less-fortunate must also eat; and do from volunteers,

Who show their love and beat defeat, enough to flow the tears.


Some are slow, they taste each bite, while others gorge themselves all night.

Piling plates with great delight, watching them is quite a sight.

Partaking of, can be quite telling, but wider waists say moderation.

Few won’t risk the chance of swelling, this four day holiday duration.


Mo mashes ’taters with some cheese. Nina tells us all, "Say please!"

Mitch eyes drumsticks, big and hot, Mia helps all with all she’s got.

While AnnaMay sets the table well, Ella joins the hot soup group.

As Bobby, Randall and Travis jell, she eyes them making onion soup.


Turkey, yams and corn Mom buys, but bakes her luscious tasty pies;

The kids pitch in, they too must learn to help to keep this ship astern.

Dad loves to keep them entertained, with stories short, that is his mission.

They laugh and plead, please tell us more, stay with this excellent tradition.


Clear the table, Mom might say. If all will help there’s no delay.

Guys and gals, they all pitch in, with Mia and Ella and AnnaMay.

But older men slip off to watch, the football game with dog and cat.

Cheering for this team or that, drive gals away with coat and hat.


Just checking out the deals, they say. Tomorrow, Black Friday fills their day.

Yule time buys, good deals galore, the stores all offering much more.

The men who watch a must-win game, speak of how it’s such a shame,

That women waste their time in stores, missing games and missing scores.


The men refill at halftime break, more turkey, yams and pie and cake,

Some men laughed, some men cried, some thought they surely must’ve died.

Long before the girls got back, they snoozed  just like they’re in the sack.

Too long remained in slumber land, too deep in sleep to lend a hand.


With guys who snack all through a game, gals say there’s no one’s to blame.

They know football can be cruel, but guys see it’s a polished jewel.

For gals, Back Friday’s just a tease, knowing big sales will increase.

Because there still is one more jewel. And that is all about the Yule. 

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